


cause silence isn't golden

by Nokomis



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Gen, Penny cares about people and is super salty about it, Reluctant Friendship, Telepathy, set in season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18493708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nokomis/pseuds/Nokomis
Summary: Penny can’t even enjoy a party without Quentin’s mind standing out like the Bat-signal of annoying thoughts.





	cause silence isn't golden

**Author's Note:**

> Written for vampiresinaboat on tumblr, originally posted [here](http://nokomiss.tumblr.com/post/184234939492/hey-just-found-you-via-ao3-because-of-that-margo). Set at some nebulous time in season one.

“Shit,” Penny said to no one in particular, glaring at Quentin across the room. Even at a Physical Kids party, with its heady blur of thoughts and emotions and drunken psychic feedback, Quentin’s mind stood out like a beacon. A really depressing, super nerdy beacon. Like the fucking Batsignal of annoying thoughts. 

The thing to do would be to go in the opposite direction, to leave Quentin to his moping, but Penny had unfortunately seen too much of the inside of Quentin’s head to do that now. That was the most fucking aggravating thing about being telepathic, really -- all these one-sided bonds forged of all the casual intimacies he knew but could never let people know that he knew. 

So, distraction. Definitely the way to get Quentin out of his funk. He strode over and poked Quentin in the shoulder. “Hey. Quit it.”

“I’m not _doing_ anything.” Somehow Quentin’s actual voice was just as whiny and irritating as his mental voice. Penny glared and tapped the side of Quentin’s head, and Quentin had the nerve -- the nerve! -- to duck his head and apologize.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Penny said, and sighed. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Quentin looked like he was going to argue, but Penny _knew_ him, so he reached out and pulled him to his feet. He knew from the shape of Quentin’s mind that there was steel there, underneath all the uncertainty and lack of self confidence, but Quentin never seemed to feel the need to let it shine through.

Maybe he didn’t even know it was there. Penny paused, reevaluating his plan. “I have an idea. Something fun. More fun than this shitty party.”

“It’s a very nice party,” Quentin said loyally, eyes cutting to where Eliot and Margo were holding court by the bar. 

“Dude, if they heard you describe their party as _nice_ , you’d never get invited again,” Penny said, even though that was blatantly untrue, given how infatuated with Q they both seemed to be. That was another thing that got to Penny -- how easily Quentin had fallen into a deep friendship, had become part of an _inner circle_ without even seeming to _try_ , while Penny was always left out on the fringes.

It fucking sucked. He was way more charming and entertaining than Quentin ever thought about being, and had an actual sense of humor. Not that he _wanted_ to be part of their stupid friendship circle, but… It would be nice, that was all. 

Quentin sighed, like standing up and leaving the party was the most loathsome chore he’d ever done, and seriously, Penny deserved every award in the universe for not just punching him, but he silently followed Penny out the back door of the Cottage, past the outdoor furniture, and into the woods.

Penny led them to a clearing that held no memories at all. He wasn’t even sure if it always existed -- the wards around Brakebills were strange at the best of times.

“Here’s the thing,” Penny said. “I could feel how fucking miserable you are from across the room.”

“So?” Quentin said, squaring his shoulders up. Somewhere along the walk he’d apparently decided to find his balls, which was a relief. Penny just _couldn’t_ with limp noodle Quentin.

“So we’re going to have a lesson in blocking your goddamn depression cloud before it makes me punch you,” Penny explained in as gentle of terms as he could muster.

“I can block,” Quentin said, a blatant lie given the months of evidence Penny had been subjected to.

“So you _wanted_ me to hear all your thoughts about how Eliot was wearing your favorite of his pants because of how they hug his--” 

“Okay, blocking 101,” Quentin interrupted, flushing. 

“That’s what I thought,” Penny said, then realized that he was going to have to actually teach Quentin how to block. “Okay, so you’re a nerd. You need to mentally put on a Magneto helmet, okay? Keep all that shit inside your head where telepaths don’t have to deal with it.”

“I tried,” Quentin said. Penny was surprised he wasn’t whining; instead his voice held defeat. “I’m just not as good at all this as I thought I would be.”

Not a newsflash. Quentin’s pity train about his lack of magical aptitude was something Penny had dealt with on the regular when they were roommates. Penny kind of wished he could show Quentin what a blessing it was to not be bombarded with magical input constantly, but he wasn’t about to start his own pity party. Penny refused to be that guy. 

“Then get better, idiot,” Penny said instead. Then he used the simplest words he could think of to explain to Quentin how to block his mind properly, and when that didn’t work, because Quentin was like the living fucking embodiment of _bless your heart_ , Penny heaved a sigh and touched Quentin’s mind with his own, as lightly as he could manage.

It wasn’t quite like the comics; Penny’s telepathy was a one-way street. But Quentin’s mind was open, and if he could just look closer, focus in on Quentin’s thoughts, maybe he could figure out where the failure was happening. 

“Try to block,” he said. Quentin’s thoughts churned -- a sea of observations and emotions, bleakness and defeat and an underlying earnest softness. He built the wall, just the way Penny had described but…

Oh.

As soon as his thoughts began to crowd around the wall, there was an underlying sense of panic, a _let them out_ moment. Quentin wasn’t failing because he was too dense to understand how to block, he was failing because there was a thrumming sense within him that he’d spent so long trying to push his thoughts away, to free himself from his emotions, that he couldn’t bear to lock them up tight. Didn’t want to lock himself in with his own thoughts.

His thoughts were so damn loud because he was constantly, subconsciously attempting to evict them from his own head. 

“Like that?” Quentin said, like he was unaware of his soul laid bare before Penny, and sounding strangely proud of the half-hewn walls surrounding his mind, like a fort with the gates wide open. Goddamn it. 

“Much better,” Penny said, because he was a damn gullible idiot, and accepted his fate of having to hear Quentin’s thoughts. He tried his best to ignore the wave of pride and _finally I did something right_ emanating from Quentin. At least probably it was less miserable to just have to hear Quentin’s pointless thoughts and terrible taste in music (seriously, _mainstream pop_ ) than it would be to have to actually live them, so he was still one-up on Quentin himself.

“Thanks!” Quentin lifted his arms, like he was going to give Penny a fucking hug, and Penny back stepped quickly.

“Let’s get back to the party,” Penny said. He rolled his eyes, so Quentin wouldn’t think anything had changed. “Gotta drink away what your brain feels like.”

“I know, right?” Quentin said, but he gave Penny a half-smile as they headed back, like Penny couldn’t hear him thinking _maybe Penny isn’t that big of an asshole after all._

The shit Penny put up with, seriously.


End file.
